**Trigger Warning for talk of suicide both as a concept and my own personal thoughts/memories. **

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People who are suicidal don’t want to die, they want to be free from the pain. This I believe wholeheartedly. I have been there. I was sometimes unable to grasp that it was simply the pain of living a life I did not choose to live, but deep down I felt the urge to do anything to take control over something and suicide did seem a viable option back then. I can see this now, of course, in hindsight. Back then I was blinded by it all, by my own perception of things, certainly.

I did believe at age fourteen that killing myself would be the only way. But then something changed. I fell into such a depression (now this was both before and after I met my abuser), that I suddenly convinced myself that suicide was too good for me and that the worst possible punishment, which I believed I deserved, would be to live! To endure the life I was living suited my path for personal detriment so perfectly, that daring to consider suicide seemed a luxury. Sick, no?

I allowed my emotions to rule my life. Every new little turn of events left me a devastated and crumpled, weeping ball of despair. Even after I escaped my abuser, the depression’s grips still clung to my heart. Everything requiring my attention left me exhausted. My new job, while fun and exciting, made me feel the need to play a role. I would hide my emotions from my new friends and co-workers the best I could, but my old friends knew the real me. Why they put up with it I’ll never know. I was the truest of Debbie Downers. I was Eeyore incarnate! A thick, heavy, black cloud really did, it seemed, follow me. I couldn’t shake it.

Then I began dating again. Now kids, this was when the internet was new and exciting and fun. This was when things like Prodigy and AOL had chat rooms where you would talk with people all over the world about a given topic (usually the name of the chat room was the topic to be discussed). I met far too many people from those chat rooms in real life. I had no self esteem, thought I had no value as a person. I did dangerous things. I met strangers in parking lots and hotel rooms (not in that way, surprisingly). I had a long distance relationship (if you can even call it that) with a guy in New Jersey (Dear Maude, we even had a song!). I was trying to be an adult. I was trying to try to be me. But I didn’t know what that was or what that should feel like.

Every new guy I met or dated or kissed lead to pure devastation! I was a heartache magnet! And I would revel in each rejection and break up and drive myself absolutely batty over it. I can’t even remember 90% of their names, but man did I think I loved them to no end at the time. Ya know? Then I met someone while working a gig for a music industry magazine.

It was a dark and dank club. I was only 19. Thinking back, I looked hot as hell, but I hadn’t a clue back then. He caught my eye, but I pretended not to notice him. Why allow an opportunity for rejection? I stuck to my task of talking with fans and giving out promotional goodies and chatting up the bands in attendance. As I was beginning to pack what was left of the goodies back into my giant tote bag, he leaned over and said something snarky about the band onstage into my ear. I was shocked. That band was the one I was supposed to be promoting, but he was right, they did suck! He asked if we could chat outside, I said yes. We talked and he walked me to my car. Then for some reason (I can’t recall how it happened) he was in my car as I was getting gas up the road. Then we were in his truck heading out to the beach. WTF?! I know, right? But that’s how it happened. It was magical, like out of a movie. The chemistry was electric! We made out in his truck at the beach that night into the wee hours of the morning. When the sun came up we headed back to get my car. I was smitten!

We saw each other almost every other day for the next two months. It felt like years and minutes simultaneously. Often we wouldn’t even have sex. We would usually take a shower and I would want to jump his bones, but I think he was on anti-depressants or something and so we would just lie naked on his futon and talk all night long. He was gorgeous! He had hair down to his ass. I loved to brush it and keep it nice for him. In the mornings he would get up to go to work and put on a suit and tie! First time I’d ever dated a guy with a career. Those ties? They kill me to this day. Put a rocker dude in a suit and I’m putty! Anyway, things started to get a bit weird when he got a letter from an ex girlfriend. Soon he started to call me his, “Little Ska Girl” (which I wasn’t) and make other remarks, “You’re only 19!” and I blindly played along.Then his ex came to town to “visit” and insisted they were just friends. I even talked to her on the phone a couple of times when he wasn’t home, she always said how highly he spoke of me.

The night before my 20th birthday I was at a friend’s place. We lived on lean cuisines and Jose Cuervo, lemme tell ya! Whew! But I had just found out that I’d gotten a promotion at work and wanted to celebrate and thus left him about five phone messages. He called me at my friend’s place (this is before cell phones, chil’ren) to tell me that he couldn’t see me anymore. He loved me so much that he just knew he wasn’t good enough for me. There were far better guys out there for me. He insisted it had nothing to do with the ex (or that she was a dominatrix and he a classic submissive) and simply that he couldn’t bear to keep me away from what was better for me and my future. What the fucking fuck?! I was beyond devastated! I begged for him to stay with me. To see me. To ANYTHING!!! I begged!!! He hung up.

I cried. I drank a bit (not much as I think I had a mental plan at that moment) and later, after telling my friend that I was fine and just going home, I drove out to that same beach the night I’d met him. It was cold and the winds were fast. I got out of the car and walked out to the edge, where the parking lot becomes a mix of cliffs and paths down to the beach below. I stood on this one particular cliff’s edge and watched as the toe of my boot made some rocks crumble and tumble down. I realized how far up I was. How rocky and nasty and ugly it was below in the dark. I watched the water crash on those same rocks. I knew I wouldn’t survive the fall. I walked back to my car and sat for a few minutes. I think I had a cigarette. I was as clear headed as one could possibly be (or so I thought). I tidied up my car a bit, wouldn’t want anyone to find it a mess (ha!). And then I walked back to that same cliff’s edge. I stared and stared and decided what must be done. Just then my pager went off, it startled me! It was my friend, checking on me. Getting startled like that made me have to pee, like really bad! There was nowhere to go for miles. So I walked over to some sandy bushes and peed in the great wide openness of the night. Feeling the wind on my ass and the relief of the moment gave me pause. I looked at my beeper again. I thought of my friend, Steph. I knew if I didn’t call her within twenty minutes she’d start paging me every five until I called her. So I got up, flipped off no one in particular and walked back to my car. A large truck drove by with headlights the size of my head. They were so bright turning away didn’t help and I felt nearly blind for a moment. But I also felt a sense of myself for just a second. I started the car, lit a cigarette, cranked up my radio and headed home.

It sounds like such a simple thing. It may seem that I didn’t intend to kill myself at all and that I was just looking for some sign that I belonged in this world. It’s possible, I suppose, but I knew in heart what my intentions were. I felt so alone and unwanted that I didn’t believe that anything could shake the feeling of absolutely needing to do that. As I was driving I started to think of my dad and my siblings, of my grandma and my friends. Man, they’d be so pissed at me! Ha-ha! I do think I laughed a little at that. I pictured my friend Summer’s face all twisted with anger and I fucking laughed at the absurdity of being angry at someone who died (at their own hands or not). I wish I could say that this was a major turning point for me, that I pulled myself out of my funk after that night, but I didn’t. I suffered for a long while after that night. That breakup did me in like no other ever had or would again. There is a certain song that I played, on repeat, for weeks on end. I would come home from work and sit in my room and listen to it over and over and cry and cry for hours until I had no tears left and went to sleep. No one knew this. You’re the first to know, actually. When I hear this song now? It jars me. I am instantly aware of the pain and the suffering and what I put myself through, too. It seems now an old familiar thing, a burden lifted and forgotten, back to remind me of what was. That same year I got two Chinese characters tattooed on my left shoulder blade. I rarely tell anyone what they mean out of embarrassment. I usually say it means happy birthday or something cheesy. What they really mean says more about myself at that time. The mean: Everlasting Pain (I would like to have them covered, but haven’t chosen with what just yet. And I am very broke.)

I was lucky. I had friends. They stuck by me, too. Even when I was at my worst. They would come over and put up with my roommates just to make sure I was okay. We would drink the cheapest wine in the world and have a total blast, even for a few hours to take the pain away. They didn’t know what I went through in the abusive relationship (only Summer knew). I started to date again, even met another guy online and he sold everything he owned to move out to CA from TX for me. UGH! What a mistake! Ha-ha! He was a mooch and a liar. Big news and big whoop. I was too tired to be hurt by him by then. What’s funny is that just a week after my birthday and promotion my boss had me conduct interviews for our x-mas staff. My first interview was my now husband. I hired him! You just never know what life will bring, man. You just never fucking know!

My depression stuck around for about a year after that beach incident. I told my two BFFs about that night. We laughed about it. One still says to this day that peeing in the great outdoors saves lives and reconnects us all with nature. Ha-ha! It’s true, in a way. I would rather it not become a trend though (just sayin’). I was in love with love and had no identity of my own. I was lost inside myself and felt trapped. It took a lot of self work, but damn, I am so glad that I got through that dark time. This is no fairy tale, I still struggle with depression. I have always struggled with my past. I hope to one day heal from it entirely. I try not to let it weigh me down. I consciously work and try very hard every single day to keep those feelings in the past. They threaten to come back always, but I know who I am and I know now that I want to live. And I will. I will live to see at least the age of 87!

I share my story here not to gain pity or sympathy, but to let others know that they are not alone. We’re never truly alone! People do care about you and want you to be happy! It seems a foreign thing in your moment of darkest despair, but I can assure you as a survivor that you don’t want to die. And there is a way out of the pain!

Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), a free, 24-hour hotline available to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress. Your call will be routed to the nearest crisis center to you. Website here: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Or email me here: notblueatall@notblueatall.com Reach Out: I will listen and I will not judge.

Thank you for reading and helping me on a daily basis. You rock my socks!